


i will draw your love from your lips (the blood will follow)

by karikes



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crime AU, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Spock is still an alien though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11491215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karikes/pseuds/karikes
Summary: Spock does- and did not- belong here, in this century, on this planet. But he belongs with Nyota, and they will fly into the sunset in a silver car with their family, no matter how crooked they all are.





	1. The Midwest is a funny place for a crime ring

Maude stares when an odd looking man who’s taller than her Robby walks into her diner with a black woman in tow. They sit at one of the booths, next to each other. They’re a couple, then.

Maude smiles brightly. “What can I get you two to drink today?”

The woman does not smile back. The man watches her, his eyes unblinking. He has a funny complexion, kind of sallow. He’s wearing a hat, too, pulled down over his ears. He makes no move to take it off.

“One cup of coffee with cream. What kind of tea do you have?”

Maude shuffles her pad in her hand. “We’ve got iced tea, sweetened or unsweetened.”

The woman shakes her head. “Is that all?”

Maude shrugs. “This isn’t Starbucks, it’s a diner.”

“Iced tea, unsweetened.”

“Alright then, your drinks will be right out,” Maude says. There’s something about the man that sets her on edge. It’s not like there’s very many people who aren’t white in Illinois, but it’s not just that they’re that kind of different. The woman seems like she’s probably had a husband who died mysteriously but she really just did him in. The man… Maude wants to steer clear of him. She has no impulse to act on her curiousity.

She sets their drinks down carefully. The man moves his a little to the right. The woman puts barely any cream in her coffee. She sets her spoon on her napkin. The man nudges it a hair to the left. She does not even watch his fingers, just takes a sip of her coffee.

“We’re ready now,” she says, before Maude can ask. “Two veggie burgers with sweet potato fries.”

Maude wonders if the man speaks. She does not ask. Robby’s got a little girl who took a little while to start talking, but she thinks if she mentioned this, the man would wrap his hand around her throat.

She watches from the register while they eat. The woman eats her veggie burger slowly. Her lipstick does not come off on the bun. The man cuts his up and eats it with a fork and knife. He eats his fries with a fork too.

The woman laughs once, a quick sound that makes Maude start slightly. It’s a lovely sound coming from a lovely mouth.

The man leans his head down to the woman. She hears a low sound and thinks it must be his voice. The woman turns and looks at Maude. Maude leaves the front and walks into the kitchen. 

“There’s a couple out front and they’re making me a little uneasy,” she says to Jim, the cook. He’s her Annie’s brother-in-law. He’s also built like an ox.

“You need me to ask them to leave?” Jim wipes his hands on a towel.

“No, just- listen. If you hear anything funny, come out right away.”

Jim nods.

Maude walks back out to the register. A new couple have come in, blonde and carrying a baby. She almost sighs in relief at the normalcy.

“What a cute little thing,” she says.

The strange couple take half an hour to finish their food. Every once in a while, the man leans down and says something in the woman’s ear that makes her smile.

They leave, their black coats swirling. Maude shivers as she watches them. They leave a fifty percent tip and a note in perfect cursive. The man didn’t touch his iced tea.

_ It was a pleasure, Maude. _

Maude crumples up the note and tosses it in the garbage can. 

*

The couple come back a week later at the exact same time. They sit in the same booth. The woman orders for both of them again, just water for the man this time. They have veggie burgers and sweet potato fries. The man still eats with a fork and knife. He does not lean down once. His hat stays on. The woman’s right hand stays underneath the table the entire meal.

There’s another note, this time in slightly crisper writing.

_ You watch too much. _

The tip is forty percent.

*

They do not come back for three weeks. When they do, they are accompanied by a blonde man who slouches like he owns the place and probably has eighteen girls trailing him at any given time. There is also a man who holds himself like he doesn’t care who owns the place, he just wants some goddamn coffee.

They sit in the same booth. The blonde man orders a regular burger, but the other one informs Maude that he’ll have a salad.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, ma’am,” the blonde man says. “I’ll be having a burger, medium rare. With fries. And a Coke.”

The woman’s lips are quirked. She orders for her and the tall man again. Same thing.

The man who has a little too much stubble, but it’s not quite a beard yet, says he’ll have a glass of sweet tea with chicken and waffles. “And a salad. For Mr. Heart Attack here.”

Maude smiles, but her teeth clench of their own volition. The men talk easily, but there’s something caged about their movements. The woman and the tall man with the hat don’t talk.

When she brings the food out, she accidentally brushes the tall man’s arm. He flinches. The woman places her hand on his and they look in each other’s eyes as if they can speak without any language.

The two new men lean forward slightly. 

“Don’t touch him,” the blonde one says. “He doesn’t like it.”

“It was an accident,” Maude says, her hands trembling slightly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The tall man just inclines his head. The woman says something in a language Maude has never heard before. Her boyfriend? Husband? Partner? Tilts his mouth upward ever so slightly. He adjusts the edge of his plate.

Maude leaves before she makes a further fool of herself.

The tip is twenty percent flat. The note reads  _ Fourth time’s the charm. _

*

The next week, the four of them show up again. The man with the stubble- Maude has decided it’s not a beard if it’s not half an inch long- flicks his jacket up slightly when he sits down.

She catches a glimpse of a gun and her blood runs cold. She knows that if this man is carrying, everyone in the booth is. 

Maude is the most precise she has ever been setting their plates down. She notices a fleck of dried blood on the blonde man’s shirt. She does not say a word.

It’s an hour to Chicago. She wonders if they work in the city. She shouldn’t wonder. They don’t look like they work nine to fives. They don’t act like it either, showing up at 2pm every Tuesday.

They always pay in cash, so Maude has no clue what any of their names are. They never mention their names.

The tip is fifty percent.  _ That’s better. _

Maude hopes she never sees these creepy people ever again.

*

When they show up the next Tuesday, she sends Rachel to take their order. She’s done with their weirdness, even if they do tip well.

Rachel comes back, slamming the coffeepot down a little too hard. “They give me the heebie jeebies. Especially the man with the hat,” she says. “Why did you make me take their table?”

Maude shoves her pen behind her ear. “Because I’ve dealt with their heebie jeebies for a month now. It’s your turn, and I’m the boss. They tip well if you don’t fuck up.”

Rachel gives her a bitchy look, but she’s seventeen and needs the money.

Maude watches Rachel set their food down. The tall man pushes his plate around three times before he is satisfied. The woman says something to the other two men. They laugh, and the blonde one slings an arm around his companion.

Maude can’t help but feel like they were not laughing because what the woman said was funny.

Rachel sighs. “They tipped twenty-three percent. I know because they left this weird note.”

Maude snatches it from the younger girl’s hand. 

_ 23.45%, Rachel. Tell your father you did some math today. _

Rachel’s father has been dead for ten years.

Maude throws the note away. “Pay it no mind.”

Rachel refuses to serve them the next time they come.

*

Jessie wants to take their table next Tuesday, but Maude needs a new pair of shoes and Jessie only just started, so no way in hell is Maude going to let her flunk this.

“Good afternoon,” Maude smiles. She hasn’t tried being pleasant since the first time, but good heavens, she is laying it on thick today. It might be a mistake, but she’s never sure.

The woman blinks slowly. Her fingernails drum on the table, the same color as her lipstick. 

“Is it?” she asks, and her words are sharp enough Maude flinches slightly.

“I hope so,” Maude replies hurriedly. “Your usual?”

The woman just nods. The tall man looks like he would rather be anywhere else.

“Two slices of apple pie á la mode,” the blond man says, grinning despite his companion’s elbow digging into his ribs.

“Sweet tea for me and just water for this glutton,” the brown-haired man scowls. “Do not give him a Coke, no matter what he says. The fool needs to watch his weight.”

The blond man shoves his body against his friend’s playfully. “Stop policing me, grandpa.”

Maude is just watching the pistol in the blond man’s waistband shift as his shirt stretches over it.

“Your food will be right out,” Maude says, her eyes finally darting to the woman. She traces the tall man’s earlobe with a fingernail. The tall man shivers slightly, his eyes raking over the woman.

“Get a room,” the grumpy man says. 

Maude starts slightly and leaves, rushing back to the safety of the kitchen.

“I think the quiet couple might start making out,” she says to Jim. “I nearly had to fan myself and all she did was touch his ear.”

Jim peers at her curiously. “Are they being indecent?”

“Nothing I can ask them to leave for,” Maude says, and slams the ticket down. “That brown-haired man is Southern. Don’t fuck up the pie.”

The woman gets up to use the restroom right before Maude brings their food out. She notices with a start that the tall man has an earring, and nearly breaks the plate with his veggie burger. She doesn’t, though, and she manages to avoid touching him, which is two counts for her. But the man notices her staring. His face remains impassive, as always, but Maude gets the distinct feeling he’s displeased with her.

“Leave the poor woman alone,” the blond man says. “She’s only human, even if you aren’t, you robot.”

Maude wouldn’t be surprised if the tall man wasn’t human. There’s just something so otherworldly about him that she can’t quite grasp.

The woman comes back, then, her lip curling slightly as she slides over the tall man’s lap and to the back of the booth again.

As one, the members of the table dismiss her, their attention turning to their food.

The tip is thirty percent. 

_ Never seen a man with an earring before? _

*

After two months, Maude allows Jessie to take their order. Her day is not going well and she can’t be bothered to think about being so careful when she has to think about how they’re going to pay the doctor. 

She grabs Jessie’s arm tightly. “Do  _ not, _ ” Maude hisses. “Fuck this up, or I will dock your shifts. They’re steady, well-paying customers and even if they are a little weird, I know for a fact all of them are carrying. Be careful and don’t  _ stare. _ ”

Jessie nods, her blonde ponytail swinging. She is sixteen and a bit of a know-it-all, but she’s a decent waitress, so Maude is hoping that she can pull it off.

Maude isn’t paying attention when she hears Jessie scream. She whips her head up to see the tall man has her wrist in his hand, tight enough to bruise.

The woman’s mouth spills out harsh syllables that almost sound like a song. The tall man does not release her.

Maude’s hands clench in her apron. She knows Jim isn’t paying attention. Those people have been coming here for long enough that they had all relaxed.

The brown-haired man stands up. “Can we just calm down here? Captain wants his burger. You want your burger. I want my goddamn burger. It was a fucking accident, you hobgoblin, and you know it. Now let the girl go.  _ Now, _ Commander.”

The tall man’s grip loosens. The brown-haired man does not sit down. 

“Give me your wrist, Jessie,” he drawls. 

Jessie takes a step backwards, obviously shaken. 

“Give me your goddamn wrist, girl, or I’ll look at it without your permission. I’m a doctor, and he-” the man nods his head at the tall man “-is strong enough to crush your bones. Give me your  _ wrist. _ ”

His voice never once rises, but Maude gets chills down her spine at his tone.

Jessie extends her wrist, shaking visibly.

The man takes it, prodding at the skin and rotating it. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says.

The blond man hasn’t moved once, but he’s giving the tall man a curious look. 

“Now can we have our burgers?” 

Jessie nods vigorously, not trusting her own voice. “They’ll be right out,” she finally squeaks.

Maude fixes her with a glare. “What the hell did you do to make him snap like that?”

Jessie is biting back tears. “I just- I asked them how their day had been and the blond one said fantastic. And then- Then I leaned over to put the lady’s drink down and I practically slapped the Asian guy in the forehead drawing my hand back.”

She’s sniffling now, her hand worrying at her forehead. Her wrist is purpling, the clear lines of fingers forming from broken capillaries.

Maude sighs deeply. “Do you need to go home?”

“No.” Again with the vigorous ponytail shaking. “I’m fine, Ms. Maude, really I am.”

“You probably just lost your tip,” Maude says, turning away. “But if he touches you again, I’ll be kicking them out.” 

She doesn’t know how, but she doesn’t stand for anyone touching her girls. She’ll let it slide, just this once, just because they’re so well paying and that man had defused the situation.

Jessie is trembling when she unloads their food onto the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?” She asks, her voice a little too bright.

The woman says something in a different language, something from the back of her throat. The tall man quirks a half-smile. The blond man is just watching. He hasn’t said a word this whole time.

“No, that will be all,” the doctor says. “Thank you for your service, Jessie.”

It’s such an odd thing to say, but Maude is too busy calculating how long they’re going to sit there and scare off other customers that she doesn’t pay a lot of attention.

The next thing she knows is that the silence has shifted in some way. It’s enough to make her look up.

The woman has her hand over Jessie’s mouth, a pistol to her head. The tall man, Commander -whatever the hell that means- has his own gun pointed at Maude’s chest. 

When he speaks, his voice is devoid of all emotion. “Give me everything in the cash register.”

There’s no room for argument in his dark eyes. Maude’s hands shake as she complies, reaching for the stacks of bills and handing them over, trying not to think about how much this is going to set them back.

The blond man saunters forward and dumps his plate on the counter. The doctor isn’t far behind him. “Time’s up, Maude. It was fun while it lasted.”

The woman walks forward, pulling Jessie with her. Jessie is two inches taller and broader in the shoulders, but her captor moves like she’s taking a Sunday stroll.

“Got everything?” The woman asks, her hand steady as Jessie takes a wheezing breath in.

The tall man just turns to give her a look. His hand does not move a single centimeter as his head pivots. Maude knows he could shoot her without looking. She does not move. She hopes Jim is running out the back to get the police. 

It won’t matter though. She already knows they’re going to be gone before anyone shows up to help.

The woman releases Jessie and shoves her behind the counter, her pistol still trained on the girl’s temple. She tosses a piece of paper on the counter.

They’re gone, then, just as quickly as they came, with a thousand dollars in their pockets and Maude’s dignity.

“God fucking damn it,” she says quietly, staring at her hands. She turns to Jessie. “The police will be along shortly. Tell them the truth.”

_ Give my regards to Jim. _

Maude’s blood runs cold. She turns with unseeing eyes and walks into the kitchen. Jim is slumped against the stove, blood trickling down his cheek.

“Jessie! Call 911 right now!”

Maude has never had a worse day in her entire life.


	2. I wouldn't do it with anyone else.

Nyota hums low in her throat, beckoning with her gun. “Come on now. G isn’t that hard to hit.”

The man in front of her wet his pants ten minutes ago. He shifts, the acrid smell of urine drifting towards her nostrils. She doesn’t flinch. She’s smelled far worse.

He hums shakily. The note is flat.

Nyota shakes her head, frustrated, repeating the note.

He finally hits it, if a little thready.

“There we go,” she says, her smile leaving him feeling cold. “That’s it, Herman. Now, are you going to tell me the combination to your safe or am I going to start shooting your fingers off?”

Herman’s eyes dart to her fingers. He notices the wedding band that she occasionally wears. 

“You g-got a hus- a husband?” He stammers out. “K- ki- kids?”

Nyota’s expression does not change as she lowers the gun to his left hand and pulls the trigger. 

Herman screams, staring at his pinky finger hanging in shreds from his hand. “Jesus fuck, woman!”

“Jesus has nothing to do with this,” she says. “And you will address me as ma’am. Now, do you want to lose another finger or are you going to tell me the combination?”

“Forty-five right, sixty-six left, nine right,” Herman hisses. 

Nyota hooks her hands under his shoulders and drags him right next to the safe. She tied him up a while ago, but she’s taking no chances. She keeps her gun trained on him while her eyes are on the lock. Herman tries to scoot away after a second or two.

Nyota cocks the gun as she spins the dial. “Move again and I blow your brains out.”

She hears footsteps behind her. She finishes the combination and the safe clicks open. 

“Hello, darling,” she says.

Spock does not reply, but then again, he rarely does. His boots just come to a stop behind her. Herman mumbles something under his breath that Nyota hears perfectly.

“Keep your mouth shut about my partner, Herman, or you’ll lose another finger.” Her voice remains even, and she does not look at him while she continues to lift the gold from his safe.

Her partner takes it, piece after piece of jewelry disappearing onto his person. Herman withholds his complaints until his mother’s earrings get removed.

“Those were my mother’s,” he scrambles to get out.

The sallow-skinned man pauses, his hand about to descend to his pocket. He places the ruby earrings on the table carefully, his fingers long and fine-boned.

Nyota sighs. “He might be lying. They generally are.”

Spock says nothing. Nyota scoops the last two pieces of jewelry out and dumps them down her bodice.

“Now, Herman, my boss is coming through in a minute, so behave yourself and you’ll get out of this alive.” Nyota draws her gun down his cheekbone, the metal cold as it drags a line through his sweat.

Herman just nods, biting back the pain of his hand. His mother’s earrings glint on the table.

Nyota joins her partner, her hand not quite touching his arm. “Let’s go.”

They are almost out of the office door, definitely out of ear range, when Herman decides he’s safe to mutter an expletive. “Fucking bitch.”

The tall man is on him before he can blink, his hands crushing Herman’s windpipe. 

Nyota watches, not moving. “Let me finish him,” she says when Herman’s vision is going black.

Spock moves away, his breathing even. Nyota steps around him with a grace that speaks of some formal training. 

She blows every one of Herman’s fingers off his hands before putting a bullet through his throat.

Herman whistles his dying breaths as Nyota straightens her gown and buttons her jacket to hide the blood. Sunglasses appear from her pocket and she hands them to Spock before putting on her own pair. She takes the earrings from the table and plops them into her own pocket.

Jim and Leonard pass them on their way out. They do not look at each other.

They meet up on the edge of town some time later. 

“Did you have to make it so difficult to clean up?” Leonard asks, squinting into the sun.

“He mouthed off,” Nyota says, her hand in Spock’s pocket. Her earrings glint and catch the light, sending pink patterns to dance across Spock’s shoulder. “Where’s our pilot?”

“Coming,” Jim says, flipping his phone shut.

Sulu drives up then, slow and easy like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Everyone knows he’s been pushing the speedometer. “I heard some of you were looking for a ride?”

“Oh, shut up,” Leonard grumbles, climbing into the back seat. Jim takes shotgun, as always. Spock and Nyota sit apart, but the space between them might as well not exist.

It’s an hour to their house, and Jim likes to listen to the radio turned up too high. Spock meditates for most of the ride.

They hand the jewelry to Chekov when they arrive. The kid will have it sold by dawn. Scotty yells at Sulu about driving too fast again and messing up the engine. Leonard scrubs the blood from under his fingernails in the kitchen sink, the water running pink down the drain. Jim sits at the kitchen table and cleans the guns out, his hands sure in the dying light.

Nyota and Spock go upstairs to change. Bones will get the blood out of her dress, like he always does. There’s a bruise on her calf where Herman kicked her thigh before she got him under control. Spock touches it, his hands gentle; fingertips soft and burning hot against the bruise.

“I’ve had worse, Spock,” she says softly.

Spock kisses the bruise and stands up. “I am aware.”

The unspoken  _ I care just as much as if your bones were broken _ rests between them.

Nyota lifts the hat from his head and places it on their bed. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be used to the idea that Spock isn’t from Earth or even their century. She touches his ears, caressing the points before her hands slide to cup his cheeks.

She kisses him as he slides into her mind, the feeling of their tongues tangling echoing in her head and trailing down her spine.

Spock appeared in the woods three years ago, with no warning and a non-explanation: “You would not understand.”

It had been Jim who found him, but Nyota who drew his story from him. The hats had started immediately until everyone had gotten used to his ears, but Leonard had looked a little sick the first time he had seen Spock’s green blood. Leonard constantly wanted to examine Spock and learn about his anatomy, but Spock did- and does not- appreciate the attention. He allows Leonard to examine him only when he is hurt even now.

Spock shows her images of his homeworld sometimes, his mind filled with red sand and haughty gazes. He shows her his mother, human, as he is, but the images of his father are closed off. Nyota does not ask about him. His mother, though- Nyota learns to love her through the mind of her  _ ashayam, _ to lean into his mother’s guidance for her son even though Amanda Grayson is in a far-off place and time.

He taught her his language, showing her how to write the swirling script and pronounce the sounds in the back of her throat. She had learned, eagerly, and Jim had too, although Nyota liked to think she had less of an accent than her captain. It was only a year ago that she had asked him about the concept of love in his language, and he had turned his head to look out the window.

“It is not the same as yours,” Spock had said. 

“I know your culture values logic and repression of emotion, but are you ever permitted to show it?” 

Nyota was curious- and they were friends. He did- and does- tell her things that she knows Leonard and Jim do not hear. They fought well together, moved around each other like they belonged in each other’s space. Spock did not let others touch him, but Nyota was permitted a hand on his arm or back on occasion.

Spock had reached for her right hand with his left hand and raised his other hand to her temple. “I would join with thee,” he had said in his alien tongue with his alien mouth.

Warmth had bloomed along her arm, crawling from his fingers into her veins. Nyota had nodded. She had not known much, besides that she trusted this man from beyond the stars whose blood ran green, whose strength and aversion to water spoke of a planet with a heavier gravity and relentless sun.

He had been gentle, practiced as he was, slipping only the way her cheeks flushed in winter into her brain at first.

Nyota’s free hand had flown up to her mouth. Other memories had followed and then been consumed by his hands between her thighs and his skin sliding against hers.

Even now, she is surprised by the tenderness he shows; that for all the strength in his alien hands, he cradles her body gently as he leads her to the tub and loves her as sweetly- or as roughly- as she asks.

Spock does- and did not- belong here, in this century, on this planet. But he belongs with Nyota, and they will fly into the sunset in a silver car with their family, no matter how crooked they all are.

“My ancestors believed in blood and violence,” he had said once, the first time Jim had asked him if he was going to join their ring. It was a month, maybe three, after he had come.

“That’s not an answer,” Leonard had drawled.

Spock’s hands had closed around the gun Jim slid across the table. His eyes were on Nyota. “I will stay.”

Nyota knows that Spock would leave if she did, no matter how much he cares for Jim’s friendship. She is what anchors this alien to Earth.

Spock will not say why he is here- and now- but Nyota thinks it has something to do with another Jim in another universe. She does not care much, not when he sinks into her like that, not when she can feel his presence through their bond as if they are in the same room- occupying the same space- every waking moment, and most certainly not when she’s in love with the way his hands look around a gun.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this after watching Baby Driver (incredible movie, I highly suggest you go see it). I came home and wrote the first thousand words and then messed around with it for another week. It's a little different from my normal stuff but I'm honestly really happy with it.
> 
> The title isn't from anything, I just came up with it last night. And then I wrote a poem kind of inspired by it, which I never do, but again. This fic is a departure from my normal stuff. It's [here](https://lavenderandlunulae.tumblr.com/post/162943216388/there-are-footprints-giving-you-away-echoes-of) if you want to read it.


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